Chapter IX: Part III: Promiscuous Wanderings (1)

IN THE AUSTRALIAN BACK-BLOCKS

Australia has attracted much attention from all quarters during the last few years, but to most people the vast interior is still a _terra incognita_; and even on the streets of Sydney or Melbourne the appearance of a copper-skinned back-blocker excites as much comment as might a being from another planet. The man from "out west" cares little for the opinion of the townsman, however; and if his carriage be not so graceful as that of those whom he so unceremoniously jostles on the pavements of Bourke Street or the "Block," he gets over the ground more quickly; and if his speech be ungrammatical, it is at least expressive, and only used when absolutely necessary.

The back-blocks, generally, are the western division of Queensland and New South Wales; and although in some parts of the former State the hardy squatter has established himself well out into the great desert, the country inside the "run" of his domain is probably unprospected, and outside entirely unexplored. In this almost boundless tract of country, where the bush merges into the silent desert, the back-blocker has his home, and, indifferent to the flight of time and the struggle and worries attending existence in the outside world, he leads a life of untrammelled independence.

Only occasionally does a stranger come among these sons of freedom; and if he once sees "where the pelican builds its nest," or experiences the strange fascination of the desert camp-fire circle, he will not soon leave them. The new-comer may be fresh from the old home-land, an outcast from continental Europe, or a wanderer from the crowded cities on the Australian coast-line; but in all cases he is welcomed, and soon he speaks in the same quaint dialect, forgets his past, and becomes a child of fortune.

"But how do you manage to exist? This place would not support a rabbit," I said to an assembly of those men one evening in Queensland. I had struck their camp while endeavouring with a companion to cycle from Spencer Gulf to the Gulf of Carpentaria; and our surprise may be imagined when, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, as we thought, their camp-fire suddenly appeared in front of us. There were about twelve men in the party, and, as it was just sundown, we naturally camped beside them, and, prompted by the somewhat elaborate preparations being made for supper, I had put my question.

"Oh, not too bad," a tall and gaunt Queenslander answered. "We keeps a team of our own always on the move with stores from the nearest township."

"But that must cost a lot of money so far out as this. How do you earn----?"

"We can always make tucker shootin' kangaroos and emus for their skins; an' if any man wants a cheque bad, for a spell or anything, he can always go shearing inside country. Of course we takes turns at opalling, if we strikes a good show; an' if thar's any new gold discoveries, we git there quick an' lively."

"But you can never make a fortune at work so uncertain?"

"Lor'! mate, but you is hard to please. Here, Charlie; you lend a hand here; this stranger's fresh, an' I is no good pitchin'----" Charlie stepped forward, and at once relieved his comrade of the burden of conversation.

"You reckons we can't make no money?" he said. "Well, I reckons ye is wrong. How about old Tyson, the millioner? An' how about Gilgai Charlie sitting over there?--my handle is Vic Charlie, cos' I comes from Victoria--he made four thousan' clear outen his opal claim only last week; an', darn it all, mate! there's Shandy Bill, that little fellow on yer left, he made ten ounces yesterday jes' by dry-blowing in a pan----"

"Ten ounces! of copper?"

"No--of gold; an' Long Tom here shot one hundred and twenty-three kangaroos at ninepence each----"

"Did you say that your companion found gold?"

"I reckon I did, stranger, an' what's more, we has all dropped on to gold."

"What! There is no gold so far west as this."

"So we was told, mate. Them as is supposed to know, say there can be no gold west of the ranges; but you can allow that this push knows gold when they see it, an'--but show it to him, Shandy." Shandy instantly detached a leather pouch from his belt, and without a word put it into my hands.

"That is gold without doubt," I said, handing it back; "I know by the weight." Vic Charlie seemed surprised at my knowledge of the metal, but he said nothing.

"Does you know much about minerals?" inquired an elderly man who had been listening intently to the conversation.

"I have prospected in most countries," I answered, "and ought to know all that is worth knowing by this time, for the experience was about all I did get."

"Tucker!" sang out some one. "Git table-covers for the visitors, an' look lively." My own companion, while I was talking, had been engaged in similar fashion in the centre of another group, and I smiled to see how intensely interested were his listeners. _He_ was not seeking information, I knew, but from the unconscious ejaculations which frequently arose from his audience, I guessed that he was imparting some; and his selections were invariably strange and wonderful. The cry of "Tucker," however, created a diversion, and during the half-hour that followed, all apparently had but one object in view, and being blessed with a healthy appetite, that same object was very pleasing to me. I was placed between a gentleman called Dead-broke Peter and one dubbed Silent Ted. I afterwards discovered that Peter had been a member of the New Zealand Parliament, but Long Tom introduced him simply as the best talker in camp. I suppose it was to balance matters that the thoughtful Tom placed Ted on my other side, for _he_ never spoke.

"He is a first-class cook an' a most extraordinar' thinker, though," said Tom; and as Ted's corrugated but wonderfully expressive face beamed at the compliment, I saw that a tongue to him was quite unnecessary. The night was very dark, and as the fitful fire-flashes lit up the surrounding gloom and cast fantastic shadows of the squatting men on the sands behind them, the scene was indeed weird. Towards the end of the meal Dead-broke Peter began a conversation, at first very general in character, and which I easily sustained without interrupting my study of the men around; but before I realised that Peter was a man with a past, I found myself floundering in the subject of astronomy hopelessly beyond my depths.

"Yes," I said, endeavouring to collect my senses, "it is wonderful how the science has advanced, but I cannot understand how you have made the heavens a clock."

"Oh, that is a simple matter," he replied. "Canopus sets behind Warrego plains at half-past nine at present; take that fact for your unit, and then the positions of the Cross will indicate plainly, even to minutes, the divisions of the night. But look at that poor snake crawling out of the hollow stump beside you; that means a cyclonic disturbance is approaching----"

"Great Scot! That's a black snake. Look out, boys!" I cried, springing to my feet. Ted, who had been drinking in every word spoken, quietly reached over, and catching the wriggling creature by the tail, skilfully swung it round his shoulder and brought its head forcibly against the log. The snake must have been killed instantly: but its long body quivered convulsively for a moment, and then with a sudden jerk shot backwards and coiled tightly round Ted's arm. To my surprise, none of his comrades troubled even to look at Ted during this performance: all, with the exception of Peter and himself, were absorbing the words of my very Scotch companion, who was relating with powerful dramatic effect some peculiar experiences of his in other parts of the world. But evidently Ted did not expect any attention, for without uttering a sound he arose, shook his encumbrance into the fire, and sat down again, with a look on his face that plainly said to us, "Go on! What have you stopped for?"

Peter politely directed my gaze to a nine-inch centipede that was prospecting across my boots, and then launched into a discourse on theological matters, which in time led into the supernatural, and finally narrowed down to a discussion on the mysterious rites of the aborigines' Bora.

"Little Bob, that tall man sitting next your companion, has had much experience among the natives of the north," Peter said, "and if you could only get him to talk he could tell some marvellous tales."

I looked over to the other side of the fire, and saw that Little Bob was the individual who had asked the extent of my mineral knowledge. "I have heard some tall stories of their corroborrees, Ghingis, and Bunyips," I answered; "but no white man has ever seen anything that could not be easily explained."

"Think not? Perhaps you are right, but my experience leads me to think differently. There is a Bunyip's pool seventeen miles from here--in fact, we get our water from it; but there is not a man in this camp who would go near it at night for--well for anything. And as for the corroborrees, there are men here who have actually gone through a series of them, and if you stay with us, or travel northwards, you will probably see some for yourself."

Peter's words interested me greatly, so, careful not to interrupt his flow of eloquence, I soon became as silent as the gentleman on my left, and was rewarded by hearing a most wonderful account of the dreaded Bunyip--that strange mysterious creature, half fish and half fiend, the very sight of which, it is said, means death to the unfortunate beholder. I had often heard of this "dweller in the waters" from half-caste aborigines in New South Wales, and knew that it was supposed to live in the subterranean pools which abound throughout the Australian interior; but I never imagined that white men could be so firmly convinced of its existence as were my present companions.

"It's in the Brumbie's water-hole, you can bet your life," said a strangely deformed man, who had joined our group when the name was mentioned.

"How do you know? Have you seen it?" I inquired.

"No, an' doesn't want to; but Jack Ford did."

"And where is he?"

"Ask Sam Wilkins. He's the only glory prospector here."

"What has he to do with it?"

"Lor'! stranger, if he doesn't know where Jack went, no one here does. Jack was as fine a mate as iver I met; but whether he staked off a claim up aloft, or pegged out in the other place, I'm darned if I knows. He saw the Bunyip one full moon, an' croaked the next day."

I now noticed that all the men had gathered round our little group, and before I could further question the speaker, Long Tom broke in. "Is ye in a hurry to git up to the Gulf country?" he said.

"Not particularly," I answered.

"Yer mate tells us you is a great mineralogist?"

"Oh, no,--not great; but I know a little of the science."

"Does ye know what that is?" Tom opened a sack as he spoke and took out a greenish mass of something.

"That is copper sulphide. Where did you get it?"

"Mate, if it's any good, there's hundreds and thousands o' tons o' it lyin' on top not mor'n fifty mile from here. But what is this?"

"Why, that is native silver; and that conglomeration in Ted's hand is an ironstone formation carrying gold----"

"Say, mate," interrupted Little Bob, "does ye know what this is?" He held in the palm of his hand a mixture resembling tea in appearance, but which after tasting I knew could not be that substance, "Ah! ye is bested, mate, an' I is glad," continued Bob. "I knows ye is honest now, an' don't skite when ye doesn't know."

"Thank you; but what is it?"

"Pidcherie, stranger. Money can't buy it. It comes from the Mullagine swamps; an' gold nor lead wouldn't make a black fellow part with it. Swallow that, an' you can dance in the fire an' not feel nothin'; cut yourself in little bits an' you'll think it fun. Only the niggers knows what it is, an' no white men barrin' us back boys has iver got any----"

"Time for that again, Little Bob," cried Long Tom, "The question just now is, Will the stranger jine us? Yous can git two shares an' we does all the work," he added, turning to me.

"But, Mr.--that is--Peter here knows more than I do. He----"

"Him!" snorted Tom. "Mate, he's the most onreasonable man in camp. When he starts talking we can't stop him; an' when he is stopped, darn me if we can start him." I turned to see how my late entertainer took these words, but he was lying back on the sand--asleep. Finally, after much quaint reasoning, the men persuaded us to try our luck with them, at least for a time. "Yous can leave us when you like, if it doesn't pay," was Tom's summing up; but as he had just told me of a sand-patch in which tucker could be made by dry-panning, and of a "darned curious country across the Cooper" which was on fire with opal lying on the surface, I thought that the adventure was well worth any risk in that direction. We were still talking when the Southern Cross dipped behind the Grey Ranges; but before we stretched ourselves on the sand to rest it was decided that I and three others should set out in the morning to inspect the opal formations beyond the Cooper, and pending our report as to its value, the others would keep up the funds by kangaroo-shooting and dry-blowing for gold.

Next morning with the first faint streaks of dawn we were ready. Mac and I had our cycles, which we stripped of all their previous accoutrements, and Kangaroo George and Gilgai Charlie rode two of the finest horses in Queensland.

"Be good boys," cried Long Tom, as we prepared to move off after breakfast.

"There is a willy-willy coming soon, so watch where you camp," warned Dead-broke Peter; and without more ado we plunged into a clump of gidgyas, and in a few minutes burst out on the ironshot plain. Neither George nor Charlie was inclined to waste his wisdom on the desert air, and even Mac found it advisable to keep his mouth closed when the fine clouds of sand began to rise. For hours we headed due west, dining at noon, in the open, on a piece of damper and some cold mutton, washed down with an extremely sparing amount of muddy fluid from our water-bags, and then going on again. Before sundown we reached a dried-up creek, where, after scraping in the sand among the roots of a solitary lime-tree, we found sufficient liquid for the horses, which we then hobbled and went into camp, fully forty miles from our starting-point. The sun was now racing down on the western horizon, and the desert around seemed like a sea of gold. The day had been oppressively hot, and consequently we expected that night would be kept lively by the many pests. Nor were we mistaken. Just as our surroundings became blurred in the shadows of night a dingo's dismal howl broke the strange stillness, and then the blood-curdling shrieks of some laughing-jackasses in the tree above irritated us almost beyond endurance. The mosquitoes next joined in, sinking their sawlike suckers deep into our sun-blistered skin; and when the mournful "morepork" added its depressing note, the desert orchestra was completed.

"I reckon there's a storm comin'," remarked George, as he assisted a small death-adder into the fire.

"For onysake let it come, then," growled Mac. "A dinna see what ye've got to complain aboot. Da----darn it!!"

"Is ye bit, Scottie?" inquired Charlie. "Lor'! there's a centipede on your neck. It feels like red-hot coal, doesn't it?" he added sympathetically.

"No," groaned Mac; "it's a rale cooling sensation; but, here, feel for yersel'." He poised the creature on a twig as he spoke, and skilfully landed it on Charlie's back, and the yell that followed might have awakened a Bunyip, had there been such a monster within five miles.

"Shut up! darn ye, Charlie!" roared George, lifting a nicely browned damper from the ashes; "ye has set the black fellows' ghosts off again. Lor'! just listen to 'em."

"Hurry up with that damper, George," I interrupted--"that is, if there's no snakes in it."

"There's many things worse than snakes, boss," innocently replied George; "they is prime, if ye roast 'em an' has got any salt----"

"Haud yer tongue, man, or A'll mak' a corroborree o' ye," roared the hungry Mac, and I had to interfere hastily to prevent bloodshed.

The memory of that night's tortures still haunts me. The desert was alive with all sorts of reptiles and insects, and from my companions, as they rolled sleeplessly in the sand, many short but heartfelt expressions arose which I dare not repeat. At sunrise we set out again, and all day travelled westward over country similar to that which we had already passed, camping at night on an "Ana" branch or backwater of the famous Cooper, and enduring another night of misery.

"I reckon we should be near the Ghingi's opal now," said George as we resumed our journey on the third day; "but say, boss, what's wrong with the ole sun? or is it the willy-willy?" There certainly was reason for George's question, for the sun as it shot up over the edge of the plains seemed merely a dull red ball; but the gem-shot haze which danced between showed the cause, and I realised that a cloud formed of minute particles of sand was partly obscuring it from view.

"We'll get across the main river and look for shelter," I said, "for evidently this storm has been working up for some days." We crossed the "Ana" channel and proceeded slowly, for the ground was now broken up as if by volcanic agencies. I was anxious to see the Cooper, the great inland sea of the early pioneers, but to my astonishment no water was yet in evidence as far as the eye could reach; so, leading our steeds, we picked our way over the cleft and burnt ironstone.

"These is the Ghingi's holes," said Charlie, as we came to some unusually large and deep chasms, "an' keep your eyes open, for there should be opal here."

"Whaur has that patent river got tae, I wunner," muttered Mac. "I never had muckle faith in Australian rivers, an' I doot the nearest water-hole in the way we're goin' is the Indian Ocean."

"Say, boss," suddenly said George, "how far is it to the war?"

"Oh, South Africa is about seven thousand miles from here. Are you thinking of going?"

"Well, some of the boys was talking that way; but none o' us knew the country, nor if the track was to sunrise or sundown."

"Africa is west from here, George."

"Is ther enuff water for horses on the trail?"

"Why, man! you cross the ocean."

"Well, I reckon old Joy here can cross anything; but it beats me to know how a fellow can carry tucker. I s'pose there is plenty stations on the road, though?" I looked at George in amazement, and Mac grinned with delight.

"Maybe they wouldn't want us, Kangaroo," put in Charlie; "but I reckon we can ride anything as has feet, an' shoot----"

"Lie down flat, mates!" shouted George; "here's the willy-willy."

I turned and saw a huge black wall gyrating wildly towards us. A roar like that of thunder filled the air, followed by a sound as of waves breaking upon a rocky beach. A fierce blast of back-drawn sand struck my face, and as I threw myself down I felt as if drowning for a moment; then a hail of stones, scrub, and sand rushed over me, tearing my clothes to shreds, and penetrating my skin like shot, while a thick blackness blotted out everything around. I lay still, conscious that a deposit of sand was fast covering me; but I also felt that the suffocating tension was already becoming less severe, and next minute a current of moist cool air, delightfully soothing to my sand-blasted skin, swept over the desert, and I sat up. It was still dark; but the awful vortex had passed, and away to the west I could still hear the indescribable rumbling sound of the flying boulders among the Ghingi holes.

"Is we all here?" sounded Charlie's voice close beside me, and I felt relieved when I heard the muffled responses of my comrades, for I knew that if caught in the centre of such a storm we had just escaped, nothing living could withstand it. I groped for my cycle, and moistened my throat with the damp sand that now filled the water-bag, noticing, as some of the contents spilled down my neck, that the temperature must have fallen considerably, for the accident caused me to shiver.

"Ye talk aboot gaun into the Australian interior," spoke Mac dolorously, as he in turn swallowed a mouthful, "but I'm thinkin' that a lot o' Australia has gone into mine."

"Never mind, Mac," I replied, as we all crawled towards each other, "here comes the first rain we have had since leaving Adelaide, and if the horses are all right, so are we."

"I reckon they is O.K.," said Charlie; "they knows more than most people, them horses."

While he was speaking we cast off our scanty garments and revelled in the refreshing drops; but rain in the back-blocks is worth more than its weight in gold, and this shower only lasted about a minute, and passed on in the wake of the willy-willy. Shortly afterwards the darkness rolled away to the west like a huge receding screen, and near us we saw the two horses rolling on the ground with evident enjoyment. But I did not ask my companions how it was that our four-footed friends had escaped so lightly, for my attention was attracted by a scintillating streak of something on the edge of a small hole, and as my eyes became used to the now blinding glare of the sun, I saw that the whole surface of the desert was literally blazing with small points of colour.

"Lor'!" exclaimed my Australian comrades simultaneously, "we has struck the very place after all."

"Ay, mon," said Mac wrathfully; "an' hoo did ye no' ken that afore?"

"'Cos the opal was dead," replied George, "an' the rain has made it 'live again."

Mac looked suspiciously at the speaker; but Charlie added that "dead" and "live" were terms used in speaking of dull opal that could be made to flash as if alive by the application of water. This explained why we had not seen the gems before, and without troubling to inquire where the Cooper had gone, or how--if Charlie and George were correct--we had got to the other side of it, we attacked the ironstone boulders with our small hand-picks.

"Every gibber's got an opal heart," remarked George, smashing a large boulder to fragments.

"Take care, then," I warned, "or you will break it too."

"Then how is we to do it, boss?" inquired Charlie, poising his pick in mid-air. "Does ye think it will come out if we whistle on it?"

I did not; nor to this day have I found how to get that opal out intact. We tried every method that could be devised, but without success, for each time we broke the outer casing the more brittle core was also shattered by the blow. Patiently and laboriously we chipped the ironstone, only to find that the gem was in powder form when we reached it. We then tried roasting the stones, carrying them to a small clump of stunted gidgyas for that purpose; but found then, that although the shell broke with less hammering, the "life" of the opal was destroyed by the heat, and a dull lump of glass-like substance was all our reward.

For two days we wandered among the Ghingi holes trying specimens continually, but with the same results, and at last I was convinced that further work under the circumstances was useless. The horses were now beginning to suffer for want of proper food, and I saw that the water question would also trouble us as soon as the pools formed by the willy-willy shower had evaporated. Cooper's creek as a flowing stream had ceased to exist. Probably its waters, or all that seven years' drought had left of them, had gone to feed that strange tide which ebbs and flows so mysteriously under the heart of the great Lone Land; but in its old channels we saw only dead and dying creatures of the desert, and the banks were simply a nursery for fever germs.

"I reckon we'll have to give it best," at length said Gilgai Charlie, and I could see no alternative.

"If sufficient rain came, we might be able to bring a team out," I said, "and cart a load of boulders back to Eromango. If we could not there get the ironstone dissolved with acid, we could at least send them to Brisbane and get them cut."

"That's all right, boss," spoke George, "but I reckon we might as well look for gold nuggets droppin' from the sky as enough water for a team." And I knew he was right.

We thought of striking across to the central ranges of South Australia to prospect the ruby formations there, but we found, when we reached the end of the broken ground, that our course lay through a belt of soft sand in which our wheels sank over the rims; and having neither sufficient water nor stores to risk walking for an unknown distance, we were forced to abandon the attempt. On the afternoon of the third day we started on the back track, and that night camped on the Ana pool. We made our old camp by the "soak" the next night, and at noon, the day following, struck the camps of those of our comrades who had gone dry-blowing.

"Well, mates, don't worry. It doesn't matter anyhow, for we'll git it some day, if we doesn't peg out," was the general comment when they had heard our story; and then the billy was boiled.

I was much surprised to see that gold was present in the sands of the desert; and even although the quantity was small, and only in patches widely apart, the fact afforded much food for thought. The process of dry-blowing adopted by the men was extremely simple, consisting of dropping the sand from one pan raised above the head to another resting on the ground, then reversing the positions of the pans and repeating the operation. In action, most of the sand and other light material was carried away or diverted by the wind; but the gold--if any--in accordance with the law of gravitation, dropped straight. When the bulk was thus reduced until only the precious metal and the heavier ironstones were left, the contents were put aside, and another panful proceeded with in the same manner. Finally the collected matter was thrown on an improvised inclined plane that had bars of wood fastened across its surface. In rolling down, the ironstone pebbles cleared these ripples and fell to the ground; but the gold, being too heavy to do likewise, was caught in the angles, and afterwards carefully removed by the operator. The work was very slow and laborious, and often attended with very disappointing results. "But," said Dead-broke Peter, while explaining this to me, "we sometimes strike a patch that pays well."

"Can you explain why there is _any_ gold here?" I asked. "There are no auriferous reefs which could shed it nearer than eight hundred miles, and, according to all geologists, the entire desert is the deposit of the ocean."

"That may be," Peter replied, "but I have conclusive proof that there is a gold-bearing reef not more than a quarter of a mile from where we stand. I have no doubt that the rocks carrying it once reared themselves above the surrounding sea; but that was--well--before our time; and now they are too deep for us to reach."

I suggested that if the men had some mechanical appliance which could treat the sand in large quantities, they might do well with the surface deposit. "Perhaps," Peter said indifferently; "but there would be too much worry attached." And seeing that Silent Ted had dinner ready, we changed the subject.

Long Tom and four of the men had gone out emu-and kangaroo-shooting, and were not expected back for a week, and knowing that neither Mac nor I could be of any special service to the men at dry-blowing, we at length resolved to proceed to the Gulf, as was our original intention.

Our companions were very sorry when we announced this; but I told them we had come out expressly to study the aborigines at home, and that when we had done so we might come back.

"You'll see them before you go far," said Shandy Bill.

"An' don't go foolin' near a corroborree, Scottie," warned Little Bob; "'cos if ye does thar will be a funeral, as sure as them currants in that damper there is only ants."

Dead-broke Peter was evidently qualifying for a Silent Ted reputation, for it was only when kicked repeatedly by that individual that he roused himself, and in effect said, "Remember, if you happen to get into trouble, that the various corroborrees are only stages in the grand Bora; and that the signs used in their working have a wonderful resemblance to those of a certain society to which I see you belong." This information was startling, to say the least of it; but Peter had again fallen into his listless attitude, and could not be induced to say more: so, after receiving many messages, written and verbal, to despatch from the first settlement reached, we departed.

Eight days later we crossed the north Cooper (here called the Thomson river) at Jundah--it was in flood here(!)--and in another four days we reached Winton. From this unique township we made good time northwards through a well-watered country, which, although in the tropics, is blessed with a pleasant climate; and while running down the Flinders river had our first adventure with the natives. The Australian aboriginal is believed to be the lowest form of humanity extant; but there are many things in his philosophy of which the white man has not dreamt. He fights with nature for his very existence, his food being the crawling creatures of the earth and what he wrests from other animals; and even then he is haunted with an eternal dread of devouring demons, who--according to his belief--are for ever seeking his destruction. His Bora is his only safeguard against these Ghingis and Bunyips; and it is in matters pertaining to the observance of its various corroborrees that he has achieved such triumphs over nature, and performs feats that, to the white man, are entirely inexplicable.

An ordinary corroborree is merely a meeting that may be summoned by the chief or elders of any tribe; but those relating to the Bora are a series of religious ceremonials culminating in a weird fire-test, which all young warriors must undergo before attaining to the state of manhood. This fire-test, with various modifications, is also practised by the New Guineans and South Sea Islanders; but with the latter it now seems to have degenerated into a performance for the priests alone; and in the Fiji Isles a form of fire-walking is still observed, chiefly for the benefit of the sensation-loving tourist. Among the Australian aborigines, however, the working of the Bora is the chief object of their existence, and with them the tests are very real indeed. The fire-test is worked by a procession of aspiring natives marching round on a path which leads through the centre of many fires. A figure in the fanciful attire of some strange monster apparently controls the movements of the warriors by the motion of some object which he swings rapidly round his head, and which produces a humming sound not unlike that of a steam-siren. The performance is followed by a warlike display supposed to strike terror to the heart of the dreaded Bunyip, and if that creature could see the grotesquely garbed warriors as we saw them--hiding in the mulga scrub with our bicycles lying beside us--I have no doubt that it would speedily take itself off to some less dangerous-looking part of the globe.

It is supposed that no white men have ever witnessed the higher corroborrees; but that belief is erroneous, for during our journey northwards we met several backblockers on the wallaby to the opal district who were quite familiar with the entire ceremony, and some, like little Bob, had even taken part in them, of course not willingly.

The aborigines are very scarce now, and happily, perhaps for us, most of our adventures with them tended more to be ludicrous than exciting, and in due course we arrived at Normanton, the chief town in the Gulf country.

A month later we landed at Brisbane from the ss. _Peregrine_, and in two days were completely tired out and disgusted with the artificialities of city life. The Queensland contingent of the Imperial Bushmen was to embark in the afternoon for South Africa, and we joined the cheering throng that lined Queen Street to see the men ride past. I have seen the Scots Greys in Edinburgh, but the men of "England's last hope" were not like them. Their smart dresses hung loosely on their angular frames, and their tanned faces were in vivid contrast to those of the Brisbanites. They were all tall, and sat in their saddles in a style that was certainly not military, and their faces wore an absent-minded expression. I knew, however, that fever would have no effect on these men, that they could stand any hardship, that an earthquake could not unhorse them, and that every time those eyes with the far-away look glanced along the rifle-barrel something would drop somewhere. A shout from Mac interrupted my musings, and knowing that he always had some reason for what he did, I followed him through the densely-packed crowd, and found him in the act of hauling a trooper from his horse.

"It's Kangaroo George!" he yelled, "an' he's dreamin'!"

"Hallo, Scottie!" suddenly said the roused warrior; "did yous see the nigs?"

"Hang the niggers!" roared Mac; "it's you I want tae ken aboot. Hoo----?"

"I see you have got on to the South African trail after all, George," I said, grasping his hand.

"Close up there, men!" roared the sergeant.

"Darn it! Dead-broke, doesn't ye see who is here?" remonstrated another familiar voice, and next instant I was shaking hands with Sergeant Dead-broke Peter--I never knew his other name. There was now a general confusion owing to the men having to lead their horses down to the wharf where the transport _Maori King_ was waiting to receive them, and by adopting tactics not unknown nearer home Mac and I got down with the troopers.

"An' has ye not a word for Shandy Bill?" suddenly spoke another voice at my side.

"An' Sam Wilkins?" said a quiet-looking trooper.

"An' me--Corporal Vic Charlie?" cried the one who had remonstrated with his sergeant.

"Is the whole camp here?" I cried surprisedly, while Mac muttered strange words anent the results of shaving on a person's appearance.

"No; only five," answered Vic Charlie. "Gilgai and Little Bob came down too; but they were too old, an' they is goin' out west again to-night when they see us away."

"I say, boss," whispered George to me, "you knows the trail, doesn't ye?"

"Fairly well, George," I replied; "you see the Southern Cross all the way."

"Then can you give us a notion how far out our first camp is?"

"You don't camp at all. You travel night and day--that is, unless the propellor shaft or something else breaks."

"Lor!" was all George's comment, but his face spoke volumes.

We stayed with our old comrades until the last moment arrived; and then, in company with Gilgai Charlie and the giant Little Bob, who had joined us on the wharf, went and dined. These two worthies were, as they said, already "full up with the city," and when the western express left that night it had on board four men and four cycles booked through for Cunnamulla _en route_ to the opal fields. Twenty-eight hours afterwards we landed at the western terminus, and taking advantage of the full moon and the hard camel-pads leading farther west, we made sixty miles before morning.

ON THE OPAL FIELDS OF WHITE CLIFFS

There are many strange places and peoples in this world, and of those the opal fields and opal miners of White Cliffs, New South Wales, are good examples. The opal district is situated sixty miles N.N.W. of Wilcannia, a somewhat remarkable township on the Darling River, and the men who make gem-hunting their profession number over two thousand. Of this amount, less than a half belong to some branch of the Anglo-Saxon race, the remainder being a mixture of all nationalities, of which Germans are the most numerous. The township of White Cliffs stands in a hollow in the centre of the "workings," but it is merely a collection of galvanised iron drinking saloons and stores; the population living out on their claims, some in tents, some in their horizontal excavations or "drives"; and others with only the sky for a roof. When it is stated that the town also contains a Warden's residence, a hospital, and a good substantial prison--there is as yet no church--that most of the stores are run by Chinamen, and that the Jew gem-buyers form the aristocracy, the description of the town is complete. The fields, however, at present extend for three miles round the town, and in all probability will stretch further out on the great western desert when some means of providing sufficient water for the miners is devised. But the opal has been proved to exist in such vast quantities within the three miles radius, that there is as yet no need for any one to go further out.

The methods employed in searching for opal are extremely simple. Briefly, this consists of sinking a shaft, or, if the claim happens to be located on a slope, tunnelling into the ground until a seam of gem-carrying matrix is encountered; from which the opal is then separated by means of a small "gouging" pick or other tool. These layers exist at various parallel levels from the surface down to forty feet, but no "paying" opal has yet been struck at greater depths. It is highly probable, however, that this is because the task of further sinking with the primitive means of pick, spade, and windlass, the only appliances used, becomes at this point somewhat difficult, and the men, knowing the value of the shallower levels, prefer spending their energies on another shaft in fresh country. The matrix in which the gem is found consists of a hard silicious conglomeration, usually thickly impregnated with ironstone. The opal is embedded in this material in the form of thin sheets, which, however large they may be while in the formation, can only be removed in divisions of about the size of a five shilling piece.

Opal is of all colours and shades, but unfortunately for the miner a piece of exquisitely coloured blue, green, or red stone is considered absolutely valueless if not accompanied with the vivid scintillating flash which denotes its "lifeness." Tons upon tons of this worthless stuff, "Potch," as it is called, are daily thrown out of the shafts by disgusted opallers, for in common with most things in this world, the bad is very plentiful, in fact it is almost impossible to get away from it; but the gem or "live" opal is correspondingly rare. Nevertheless, fortunes are frequently made here by the merest chance, and perhaps to a greater degree than elsewhere is a man justified by results in believing that some day he will "send his pick through a fortune." As said before, the miners are of nearly all the races of mankind, and many incongruous partnerships are formed for the holding and working of a two, three, or four men's claim; but on the whole, good fellowship rules throughout the camps, and an American negro, a half-caste Chinaman, or a Turk, stands by the windlass of a canny Scot, a Frenchman, or a Hindu.

There are no disputes between capital and labour in White Cliffs, every man is his own master, and follows out his own usually erratic inclinations, unless sometimes when, after a lucky find, he imbibes too much of a certain commodity falsely-labelled Scotch, and consequently the police exercise a slight control over his movements.

There are no surface indications to guide one in searching for opal, and as the most experienced "gouger" knows no more where the gem may be than the latest new chum, all work is done on chance. To such a strange state of mind has the desert environment reduced those men of the back-blocks, that they look upon the grim side of circumstances with indifference, and magnify the trivialities of life into a proportion which to the stranger suggests a land of Burlesque. But soon he, too, catches the mysterious infection, unconsciously he is overwhelmed by the influence of his surroundings, and he ceases to see anything remarkable either in his own doings or in those of his fellows. An observer, while he retained his own mental equilibrium, might see instances of this strange perversion in almost every man in White Cliffs; but, perhaps, my own experiences there may serve to give some fair examples.

My claim was staked about a mile from the town on a small stretch of rising ground which at some time in the Earth's history formed the banks of the lake, in the old bed of which White Cliffs now stands. For comrades I had a powerful Scotsman and two Australians, while the claims around us were worked by an American and a native of Mauritius, known as Black George, a German and an Englishman--the latter being termed the "Parson," a New Zealander and a Swede, and several other single miners, the chief being one called Satan. We were all good friends, and nightly gathered round a common camp-fire to discuss things in general.

Silent Ted and Emu Bill, my two Australian comrades, were perhaps the most experienced prospectors on the field; the one had a very thoughtful cast of countenance, and never spoke, and the other was a splendid specimen of the Australian pioneer, but when he spoke it was chiefly in short, crisp words, of decided colonial origin, which Mac said would have qualified him "A1 for the position of a Clyde stevedore." Together they had crossed the divide between the Darling River and Cooper's Creek, and occasionally, when the moon was full, and the Southern Cross dipping behind the Great Barrier Ranges, Bill would tell of a land where fire-flashing opal burst through the surface sands, and shone in dazzling streaks of every imaginable colour from every wind-swept ledge. Ted would eagerly follow his comrade's words, and his wonderful face would light up with genuine admiration when Bill's word-pictures were powerfully descriptive. But he was too sympathetic, and frequently, alas! got into trouble because of that.

"Shut up, Ted!" Bill would suddenly cry, pausing in the middle of his narrative. "Is it you that's tellin' this yarn or me?"

At these rough words the silent one would slowly turn a reproachful glance upon the speaker which said as plainly as words, "Why, Bill, I did not speak."

"I knows that," would come the unhesitating answer, "but your face does, an' it's been an' got to the end of this story afore me."

This was in a manner true, and sometimes when Bill, as Hoskins the American said, was "long-winded in getting to the point," we had but to look at Ted's face for the _dénoûement_.

"But how vas it you came away unt leave all dat opal? There must be millions there," our German friend would say when Bill's narrative was concluded.

"I reckon there is, Kaiser," the _raconteur_ would answer, "but the country is full o' darned crows an' willy-willys, an' ye can't sleep no how with the sand-flies an' snakes an' 'skeeturs. Water, did ye say? No, there ain't none."

However much Ted and Bill may have ignored the absence of the precious fluid, that was the only consideration with most of their listeners, and had there been any water, some of us, at least, would have gone out West at once and chanced everything else.

One evening Bill was unusually eloquent in his discourse on the lavishness with which Nature had gifted the desert, and as all our claims had been yielding but poor returns for the last week or so, we paid more attention to his words than we had been in the habit of doing.

"I wouldn't mind having a try out back," said Scottie, "if there were a railway, or if we had fleein' machines."

"Couldn't we go as we are?" lisped the Parson, "we may work here for ever, and not better ourselves."

Bill gave vent to some sarcastic remarks anent the last speaker's powers of endurance, but otherwise made no comment.

"Bill says the surface is ironshot," continued the Parson blandly, "and, as I saw a team come into town to-day with about two dozen bicycles for sale, I thought----"

"Man, ye are a thinker, Parson," cried Scottie, "I'll gang away wi' ye the morn if ye like--that is if the machines are no ow'r dear."

"I think we ought to get them, no matter what they cost," I remarked, "for if we do go out they would enable us to cross right over to the Cooper at a pinch, if they did not break down, and the ground was passable."

"Well, I guess I am one of the crowd that goes," announced Hoskins.

"Unt me," cried the German.

"I reckon we is all going," said Bill, looking round the camp-fire for corroboration. "Int you, Satan?"

"Of course I is," answered the individual addressed, a corrugated-skinned specimen of humanity. "I is goin' where Scottie an' the Parson goes; but where in tarnation is ye goin', and what for?"

"Cooper's Creek, for opal," roared Scottie.

"Opal," repeated Satan vacantly. Then his eyes kindled suddenly, and he exclaimed, "Lor', I forgot to tell ye, boys, I has been haulin' the stuff out by the sackful these last two weeks."

"What!" yelled all in chorus, springing to their feet, and even the stoical Ted stopped in the act of lighting his pipe to gaze at Satan.

"It are a fact, mates," continued that gentleman apologetically, "I reckon I has near got a waggon-load dumped out by now. Lor', what's the racket, mates?"

Few heard his last words, for as the full literal import of what he had just said began to dawn on the assembly, a stampede took place down the hill towards the shaft; but another surprise was in store. While some were rummaging in Black George's tent for candles to explore the long drive in Satan's claim, and others were sliding down his windlass rope, a series of sounds broke out round our deserted fire, the fervour of which made Hoskins say, "Hallo, boys, how is Bill not here?"

"I is here, darn ye!" came the muffled response from the darkness; "that's Ted that's shouting," which information made it clear to all that Silent Ted in his excitement had placed the blazing mulga stump in his mouth and thrown away his pipe.

I had known Ted for a long time, but that was only the second occasion on which I had heard the sound of his voice. A few seconds later we had crowded into Satan's drive, and after crawling over a heap of mullock that blocked the passage to within one foot of the roof, we found ourselves in the chamber where, from the presence of his pick and other implements, we knew he had recently been working. In a moment the candles were lit, and then a cry of wonder burst from all. We were standing in what might have been an Aladdin's palace, and the walls danced and flashed in the gloom as if alive. The roof was simply one blaze of ever-changing orange and green, and through the whole would dart spasmodically a "living" flash of fiery red. Clearly Satan had struck it, for there must have been several thousand pounds' worth of opal exposed, whatever amount may have been hidden behind. Bill was the first to break the silence of admiration, which had fallen over all, and he only said one word. It was characteristic and expressive, but quite unprintable; and slowly we filed out again and clambered up the rope to the surface. When we got back to our camp we found Ted, Satan, and the Swede sitting in silent meditation round the fire. Probably Ted would have accompanied us, had it not been for the fact that he, being cook, had to look after a mysterious compound of flour and other substances commonly known as damper, which every evening was prepared among the ashes.

"Well, boy, you have struck it, an' no mistake," called out Ford, the New Zealander, to Satan as we approached. "You're a millionaire now."

"Get awa' frae this fire, you unceevilised heathen," roared Scottie, in virtuous indignation. "A man that wouldna' tell his mates when he struck a ton of opal is nae frien' o' mine; get awa' before a dae ye damage."

"Come Scottie," began the Parson, but Mac would have none of him.

"Don't Scottie me," he bellowed, "Ye--ye----" Then seeing the look of pain on the face of the would-be peacemaker he calmed down and said, "Weel, ye shouldna anger me. I'll alloo ony man to judge if----"

"Lor', Scottie, what is ye sayin'?" interrupted Satan anxiously; "I forgot all about the darned stuff. I has no mate, and if you will come and help spend it you can have the half."

"Mein Gott," cried Kaiser, "I vil be your mate for von quarter."

"Satan," began Mac, "A'm sorry A spoke, but A can see ye're no fit to be left alane, among so mony Germans and foreign heathen. Sell yer opal, lad, and bank the money in Sydney. The coach leaves the morn's nicht."

"I'll be darned if I do. I never went and left my mates yet, an' I ain't goin' to start now," exclaimed Satan doggedly.

And then I explained that he had already done sufficient to merit our blessing by discovering the layer of opal at the forty-four feet level. "It in all probability extends throughout all our claims at that depth," I said, "so you had better go down to Sydney and dispose of yours before the news leaks out. Otherwise there will be so much of the opal for sale locally when we all strike it that the buyers may be frightened."

Ultimately we convinced Satan that he should go down to the coast, for it was evident he needed a change, and he could now well afford it. Shortly afterwards the party broke up for the night, and soon the camps were wrapt in slumber, each man dreaming, doubtless, of the opal he would get on the morrow four feet beneath the floor of his lowest drive.

In the morning the Parson, Kaiser, and Mac went over to assist Satan in working out the opal showing in his claim, and in the evening he departed with twenty pounds weight of first-grade opal tied securely in sacks so as to excite no suspicion. The news of the deep-level find soon spread, and at noon of the day following Satan's departure our little community was the centre of a "rush," which by evening had swelled into a great canvas settlement stretching right across the white glistening lake-bed towards the township.

That evening our usual camp-fire circle was increased by the addition of over a hundred hardened fortune-seekers eager to obtain any information as to the levels, depths, and formations of the country, which, obviously, only we who had shafts already sunk were able to supply.

"It are the forty-four feet level seam we has struck," Bill answered to all inquiries, "an' it likely spreads out all over the flat there, though I 'spects it turns into Potch before it goes far."

"I reckon we'll chance that," was the general response, and next day the many heaps of upturned sand that grew in proportion as we looked, showed that the new arrivals were fast doing so.